As Heracles's fingers curled around the wand, he felt a tingling shiver through his hand and up his arm. There was a flash, brief though it was, of an image in his mind of a shop filled with shelves full floor to ceiling of long, slender boxes, of even more of them piled precariously on the floor in front of the shelves so that there was only a narrow path through the shop. Another flash, a little boy holding this very wand, standing in front of a man with unruly white hair and the palest eyes he could ever remember seeing. There was someone else there, but he couldn't see who it was, not in that brief flash of memory. And he knew it was a memory.
"Ollivander," he breathed, blinking rapidly as he came back out of the memory. Heracles tried to push the memory more, to find more of what was missing now that he'd been given the smallest sliver of his past, but it made his head hurt to do so, so he sighed and looked back to Hyperion. His son. "The man at the wand shop, he's Ollivander, right?"
"Aye. Ye remembered something?" Hyperion asked, choking back the thrill, the excitement that there might be something there. He ignored Andrew as the younger came in and sat down, taking a large pull from his glass of whiskey, Hype's focus completely on his father.
Heracles shook his head slightly. "Just the shop and the shopkeeper." He didn't want to mention the little boy, who he was certain had been Hyperion, not wanting to get his hopes up too high in case more of it didn't come back to him. But he would hold that little glimmer of memory close, would use it as a beacon of hope. Even though it was going to shake up his life wildly, he was thrilled to finally be getting answers.